


Flames on the Shore

by OrangeBlossoms



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-04-13 11:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14111559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeBlossoms/pseuds/OrangeBlossoms
Summary: Faye goes to fight a dragon. Celica finds a lost girl.





	1. The Way Things Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pureauthor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pureauthor/gifts).



> Pureauthor requested Celica/Faye and after testing out a few other ideas, I settled on this. It’s super late for FEmslash February, but this account is Femslash all year round. I was going to post this as a long one-shot, but chapters seem like they might be better (so sorry for being slow!).

There was a time when she believed in faith itself. That what the goddess willed was imperative, the weight of centuries of other adherents further bolstering that crushing sentiment. 

That’s long since passed as she dreams, a secret buried under the mountain, set to be revealed when the moment is ripe and sweet enough for victory parades and coronations and celebrations that continue for days on end. 

Or maybe this time she can stave it off until the chance has withered away and it will be another grave avoided. Not that she would have a site in either case. Beasts don’t receive funeral rights. 

A vision hits, unasked for, but granted nonetheless. The eighth cycle’s head, feathered like a bird’s and long jaw crushed by fallen stone from a clever ambush. It was paraded through a hamlet on the way to a castle on a hill, children and adults alike cheering on the grim spectacle.

_A dragon so fierce its seething wrath burned down an entire field._

The troubadours sang of a lion’s roar that was bolder still. She had tended to the earth beneath those fields for generations. The songs claimed the witch dragon cursed them as they never bore fruit again. 

She isn’t so far gone though that blessings are mingled with curses. It isn’t Mila’s way. It’s small consolation that fire is easier to control in this life with all the shared experience of so many mages. This isn’t the first time that she’s wondered if perhaps losing herself like Duma’s favored tended to do would be kinder. 

What’s left of the third cycle whispers tearfully across the years about her own Duma’s chosen. The earth was strangled until she lopped off his moss green head on a sunken altar. She had lost loved ones, precious friends, as they traversed a poison swamp filled with knotted, dying trees and soulless acolytes. 

_You mustn’t let it happen again!_

She can still recognize the good and the beautiful even among the flaws of the Mother who succorred and comforted in defiance of His terrible ire. Each rendered world has been different and it’s only in dreams that she remembers fragments from before and after, some paths branching based on success or failure, each ancient spirit dissatisfied until they can claim the dragon’s share. Even the Mother thinks she knows best in ways that can breed dread.

Her last self speaks clearly and not only at the height of emotion like some of the others. There is less interference in the messages. She and Duma’s champion were star-crossed. Pleading for death was her final act, having succumbed to Duma’s manipulations.

_This isn’t working. What small good it does is nothing in the end. The cycle must be broken._

Then, for a sliver of sleep, She becomes We.

 _Never forget. We believe in_ you _, Celica, the culmination of us all._

And so she rests somewhere in between dreams and consciousness and casts about for something new and untouched, her chest a furnace as the year draws near.

~*~

There is a mountain range outside of the village with gentle peaks that roll like hills yet dwarf the rooftop of even the church with its weathered exterior and creaking front door. The snow only settles on its spine during the coldest months of the year giving it the form of a sleeping dragon that snakes through the valley and separates Ram from the capital. Like shapes imagined in summer clouds, Faye envisions the humped shoulder blade followed by an angled swathe of wings. The tail trails behind a haunch, the forest below surely hiding curled claws.

She’s never traveled far and when all the boys left to join the fighting, she watches the horizon and dreams of life beyond the old gate at the edge of town. The thought of leaving brings her little comfort, but it’s leagues better than the ache of being left behind. When they do return as men, the pain grows until it’s big enough to swallow her whole. They have all become stronger, skin bronzed by long marches under the sun. She’s just a village girl who couldn’t understand what they’ve seen and when the conversation grows hushed over some tale not meant to be told in her presence, the looks in their eyes tell her she might not want to know.

Alm never returned with them and it had turned her frantic with the early onset of grief only for Gray to settle her and Tobin to say he’d found a new home in the capital of Rigel, a returning prince. The sense of mourning is still there, but she’s certain it’s too personal, too selfish to even begin to share with the others who she’s devastated to learn are only there to check in and leave again as knights and heroes. 

This time she pleads to go with them and they glance at each other, uneasy and unwilling to turn her down outright as they offer hollow promises instead. Maybe when things calm down, she can visit. They’ll make sure to come home now and again. Her hopes fade with the leaves on the trees and she’s falling down somewhere she can’t climb out of on her own. Time is lost to her until they all come back again in the spring with more knights on war horses and a king with a sword of legend that hums with powerful magic.

He recognizes her when she rushes to town after spending time to brush her hair and wash herself with shaking hands. There is a woman lancer nearby and she’s fierce and proud; it reminds Faye that it could’ve been her like that on a steed. As the lady knight moves away, scolding some of the younger soldiers before they can get into any trouble, Faye’s gaze alights on the king and her eyes are only for him. 

He waves at her and her heart skips a beat, the following conversation lost to the thrumming in her chest and her head. All she knows is his kindness reaching out, but then the dread follows. They aren’t there to stay, just stopping by on a mission. The next day the town is as empty as the sunken feeling in her chest. Perhaps they’ll be back, a small hope kindles in her mind. 

She regrets her wish soon after when the king returns on a makeshift stretcher, healers working late into the night. Faye seeks out old friends and there is talk of a wyrm in the depths of the mountain, a sacred flame to be extinguished and a cycle to start anew. 

The fire had chased them all away, down the mountain and back to town, never once spreading further into the forest even as it burned a path in pursuit. Gray has the sword and Faye brings drinks, her voice laced with concern. Kliff retires first and it is just the three of them in her home, Gray weary from the day’s events as he drinks from a tankard with dulled eyes. He helps Tobin up out of his seat, quietly complaining about the deadweight. It’s dark out and as the two stumble to the door, she stops them.

“You might as well take my bed for the night,” she says, a hand on Gray’s shoulder. “I can make do.” 

“Yeah, well, people’ll talk,” he responds, his speech slurred and balance unsteady.

“They already do,” she says, arms crossing. “This wouldn’t be any different.” 

A part of her wants to tell him of the days she didn’t leave her room. Perhaps he’d forget come morning while still giving her the chance to unburden herself of a weight on her chest that’s become a constant companion. It takes a moment for her to realize Gray might not have been referring to herself. He hesitates again and she frowns. 

“Just let me do this for you,” she says, an edge to her voice. “You’ll all be gone soon enough.”

_And I’ll be forgotten._

They make their way down a hallway, disappearing into the dark and she’s alone again. 

The sword is still there in its sheath and she scrutinizes it from where she sits, her chin propped up on a hand. It didn’t seem to do much good for Alm or the other soldiers. Curiosity tugs at her, stubborn and insistent like the goats her family has kept over the years. 

_It wouldn’t hurt to just touch it, right?_

There is a sudden draw to the sheathed metal and when she kneels beside it, she is surprised at the weight when she lifts it in her hands. It’s not as heavy as she had assumed.

_You could finish it._

The thought drifts through her tired mind, an invitation from elsewhere, but she adopts the concept without hesitation. She can picture herself slaying a scaled fiend, never mind that her fiercest opponents in the past have been the slugs and rabbits after her personal garden.

“I could finish it,” she murmurs and slowly picks up the blade.

There is just enough sense left in her to grab a wool cloak from where it hangs by the door and fasten it beneath her throat. She walks into town under cover of darkness and no one witnesses her leave the village, not even the sentries posted at the exits.

~*~

A lost girl is the one to be made into a champion. There are those faces who appear again and again, sometimes by her side, sometimes in opposition and one who is always a friend. She sat with her for a time until Celica asked her to leave only for her to return on pilgrimage year after year to share stories with a slumbering dragon. Her rose mage is always so headstrong, no matter the timeline. 

A memory hits and she can picture blush-colored curls and a flash of teeth. Smiles always came easy to Mae, in happiness and sorrow alike. She can almost grasp what it’s like to feel human again until it slips away like water through a sieve. 

She had sensed her from several towns away, and shed scales and wings as she raced to the edge of the trees to greet her. She spots Mae first, a shock of pink against the surrounding greenery, but Mae is the one who is quickest on her feet as she bounds towards her and nearly bowls them both over in a hug, unbalanced by a pack on her back. Celica isn’t one to shout, but everything’s electric where they touch even through gloves that reach out and pull her along to a forest lake.

“The fishing’s been good around Novis,” she says and Celica knows it’s meant to be a compliment.

_Thanks for all that you do._

It is only a scant number of days, a blink of time, but each interaction is carefully taken in for later reminiscing from the way she blows away a stray set of locks to the excited tapping of fingers and feet. She never stays still for long. 

There is a dull pang at the reminder. To keep her locked away would’ve been cruel even as she promised to be a willing prisoner to the vows Celica took when she assumed the mantle of Mila’s chosen. 

Movement catches her eye. Mae plays with some string that had been wrapped around a bag of dried fruit, creating tilted tea cups and lopsided bridges as Celica listens to her news. It’s an old game they would sometimes use to pass the time together, but she isn’t certain her hands can make the shapes anymore, the stubby pink fingers strange to her now. Even her tongue is leaden and she can only offer impersonal updates in exchange.

 _The olive groves will yield excellent harvests. The orange trees are in full bloom._

_...Do you like them, Mae?_

“Thank you for coming,” she says instead as they sit on the bank, wind stirring small waves into motion on the water’s surface. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Mae’s smile slants before she tosses the string behind her and stretches forward, hands reaching in the direction of the water lapping at the shore. She shakes her shoulders out after a moment and casually leans back.

“You ever think you could live down with the people? I’d stay with you there. Novis can get along just fine without another mage.”

Celica is aware of the village in its infancy. They bring trinkets to the mountain, small offerings to Mila’s champion that all go to the forest in the end. Dried fruits, fresh oranges and woven goods are of little use to her. Treasures spilled into uneven mounds on the cavern floor were granted to Mila herself by nobles once their traveling companions. Mila’s vessel is quickly becoming a legend as so few know the details of their journey. 

“It’s best if they forget I’m here.”

She didn’t kill Duma’s champion in this life. It might be several generations, but she would need to fight again. The weight on her shoulders isn’t yet enough to hold her down, but before she can drift away, Mae pulls her back. She could always read the silence. 

“Y’know,” she says as she wraps her arms around Celica’s, “Even if you’re all set on holing up here, I’ll keep coming back. I’ll keep telling you stories.”

If Celica were still master of her own fate, she might have cried over the sentiment. Instead, she runs gloved fingers through her hair and asks for more tales of home. 

Mae is true to her word until she can’t promise anymore, the roads too much for joints hobbled by age. There is a time where Celica’s heart turns to cinders and her rest is dreamless. The mountain cavern is sealed off from the inside. There are no visitors and the myths blur even further until a new champion of Duma is born and she cannot afford to serve as a passive urn for ash and the will of the goddess any longer. 

It's best not to involve those familiar faces at all in this business of breaking and severing. The lost girl is a face none of the other cycles can place. The decision is made and she nudges things gently into position, welcoming the actions that come easy.

~*~

As the sun rises in the east, Faye continues to follow the charred path upwards. Smoke still curls in the air, mingling with the morning mist, but it’s just as her friends said, everything is contained and the forest remains untouched save the scorched trail she walks alongside. 

Something is urging her on up into mountain depths and pushing past limits of fatigue towards a second wind. Whether it’s her own will, she isn’t certain, but it has a gentle fondness to it like receiving well wishes from an old friend. Perhaps that’s a trick as well, but she moves forward willingly, her arms beginning to ache from carrying the sword instead of securing it at her waist over her dress and apron that she never removed after cooking a meal for her friends.

Her main worry is that soldiers will awaken before she can complete her mission and will be hot on her trail in pursuit. The presence soothes away that concern. 

_They will stay with their king._

As she closes in on a section of the mountainside, already having climbed up the path past waterfalls and over rocks, a cavern entrance appears. Her steps slow and doubts emerge as she enters the inky depths. She starts, jumping in place as a flame fizzle into being to her side, dancing on its own in the darkness. 

_A light to guide your way._

She hadn’t thought to bring a torch, she realizes as her eyes adjust, and this is so much better than blindly groping her way to fight a dragon even if there is less chance for a surprise attack. The cavern’s mouth extends into a tunnel that winds inward and downward into the belly of the earth. It’s not long before she’s lost track of time, that familiar presence once again cushions her against her own nerves. 

_Soon now. Soon._

There’s a layer of something lost and forlorn under the tenderness. Much like winter in the village when the lights in other homes aren’t meant for her even if she had been invited for a holiday dinner or something warm to drink. It’s a chosen solitude. The other options are too difficult, too greedy and that lonely offering speaks to her. 

Some sections of her path widen and she glimpses underground streams guarded by rock formations shaped like crooked fangs. The air is cooler as she descends, but the chill is broken by warm drafts as if the mountain itself is breathing.

A final cavern is met in silence and the wisp goes out without warning only for a single spark to appear further on and then multiply until an immense space is lit with bright tails of fire that stand tall and thin like candlelight. In the center of the space sleeps the dragon, curled into a ball of scales and fur to the point where she doubts her own understanding of its size. It is surrounded by treasures, whether stolen or gifts, there is no way of knowing. 

The form is still as stone and she creeps forward, that comforting voice quiet, but aware. She remembers Alm then and his wounds. As she draws near, she desires for nothing more than to bring her blade down, slicing through the soft flesh of the neck. But then, the beast speaks. 

“If this is what you wish, so be it. I am Mila’s last light on this earth.” 

It uncurls, no longer a statue, eyes golden beams in the dark.

“Mother Mila?” she says and is on her back feet at the voice that echoes through the cavern, young yet weary and more human than Faye is able to accept, “But… you’re a monster.”

There is a sigh that weighs on the air in a melancholy way and a hoarse huff that might have been a laugh. 

“Yes, I suppose that is what I seem. Monstrous. Most of all, I am tired. I’ve lived this tale before from the other side, but perhaps you can end it. Not a prince or a princess. Just a village girl, correct?”

Faye shifts and nods. Both of her hands are wrapped around the grip of the sword, still covered in its sheath. 

“I have my soul, but not my flesh. I’ve lost my humanity and forgotten how to find it again. I watch the earth and keep it sound from the madness in the north though I think I might succumb to the same ills, if this cycle isn’t broken or renewed... Their wrath is exhausting to bear.”  
It is silent a moment before a final hissed admission, spoken as if burned by the thought. “That creeping darkness...”

Faye cares little about darkness or mad gods.

“Why did you hurt Alm?”

“Oh,” the creature says as its massive form folds back in on itself. “He hoped to slay the beast, but he was gods-chosen as well. We all play our parts as we are required and the only reward is survival.”

“I don’t understand! That doesn’t explain anything!”

“What is your name?”

“Faye… of Ram Village!”

There is a rumble deep in the beast’s chest that sounds something like a purr and Faye can feel it where her feet touch the ground.

“Faye of Ram Village, you are no child of fate. Free me from my own. Belief has long since forsaken me.”

It’s not a simple matter now that the once sleeping beast talks and breathes and feels sorrow that fills the cavern so thoroughly that Faye can sense it in the air. It’s so bittersweet in its embrace and familiar enough for Faye to think of it as kin. 

A heavy head hangs low and the gesture is almost deferential. 

“Is… is there no other way?” she asks and the question surprises her to the point that she turns her head to see if someone else has entered the cavern. 

Golden eyes reopen, pupils dilating as they refocus on her.

“The twilight of the gods is upon us. The vessel that was once whole is broken. It must be shattered or renewed for a new cycle.”

“I don’t understand,” Faye mutters. 

The dragon looks upward in thought, jaws clacking as if at any moment it could unleash a cascade of flames as it had the night before. 

“I have slept for a long, long time. The people I once knew are now gone. Some of them would have stayed with me and attempted to ease my burden. I think I was meant to last longer and keep the ground fertile for generations to come, but I am so tired.” 

“You were left by yourself?”

This no longer feels righteous and even the presence has ceased nudging her forward. 

“It’s more difficult to know loneliness in sleep, but sacrifices are called such for a reason.”

The dragon closes her eyes and lowers her head again. Faye’s near enough now to feel the warm exhales of breath. The air smells of burning things and anger with a bitter tinge she can relate to more than she would ever care to admit. Instead of raising the weapon, her arms are tired and so is she, she reaches out a hand to touch the top of the muzzle, eliciting a startled grumble. 

The skin is smooth and softer than she would have guessed. Perhaps it is curiosity that causes her to run a hand up the snout and to a cheek, sword held limply at her side, the magic within quiet as if waiting with bated breath. If not simple inquisitiveness, it must be a sudden onset of boldness that compels her to move forward. A crest of fur along the beast’s back has the texture of hair and the color of sunset. 

A yawn overcomes her and shatters the awe. Faye rubs at an eye with a free hand. She sits, the sword on the ground at her side.

“I can’t,” she murmurs as she crosses her arms over bent knees and lays her head down. 

“I suppose it was selfish to ask,” the creature says with a huff that is self-deprecating and hauntingly human. “I had hoped your desire for vengeance might spur you on.” The beast sounds almost sheepish at the admission, tufted tail rattling against the cave floor. “If you’d like to rest, I’ll keep watch though I doubt they’ll come back up the mountain today...” 

Her head swings around and Faye’s met with bronze and flame, shadows cast by the floating orbs exaggerating lines and contours. The eyes are amber, drifting towards vermilion, in the light. The dragon shakes off whatever thought she might have shared and Faye succumbs to sleep.


	2. Decisions in the Dark

Sometimes eras end with violent light sliding across a dragon fang blade. She doesn’t know what may come from simply walking away instead as her repeated, unwavering ‘yes’ fades into silence. 

Turning her back, she’s made that choice even if she doesn’t yet know what the consequences may be. Doubts linger despite careful consideration and a once chorus of support, the voices caged behind bars of sleep. There is no anger from the goddess. Not even a questioning murmur. Perhaps it is a show of confidence that Celica will return more dedicated than before. It’s a thought that causes her own uncertainty to flourish in the darkness. The goddess has always excelled at quietly growing things.

Alm and his party had been the first in many years to scale the mountain and break the seal to the cavern. A swarming circle of knights and soldiers cheered their liege and his destined sword that cracked the earth where it landed. The shouts fill her head like cotton, muffling thoughts as she struggles to hold onto the present. She’s since healed the wounds from poking lances when the onlookers drew close mid-bout. Alm wouldn’t have had memories. Not like her with more stories than all the gold pieces scattered across her cavern. 

Yet his eyes held pity when he challenged her with a formal bow. Snapping jaws dripping bilious flame were her response. Let him believe her to be mindless, hissing and speechless with frenzy. Small mercies are all she can afford to give. He exposed himself when ordering his retinue to stand down from the fight and to her great shame, she lashed him with searing fire, her throat so engorged with smoke that she could no longer bite back. The conflagration blazed a path all the way back to the village. The burning in her flesh once again threatens to boil over with her truth. 

Desolation is the ultimate curse of all her recollections. It crashes over her in waves, dampening her wrath and confusion into dying embers. The victory feels more like a personal defeat. A heart still flutters in the village, its candle not yet snuffed out. Another choice lays before her and she will impose on the lost girl again. They have time for her to rest, she thinks, a long ear waiting for sounds of movement in Ram.

Before Alm’s arrival, she had a single visitor of note during her convalescence. She retreats into memory once again, avoiding thoughts of more recent events.

A rainy afternoon. Another lost girl, this one with hands that spark with magic in the downpour. She is clever enough to find the entrance and break into a dragon’s self-made prison of earth and stone. The image is strikingly present as she drifts again.

The words are what wake her. They are chanted in a singsong way as if the speaker has already stated the same phrases several times and grown bored with the normal rhythm.

“Oh! You’re moving! That was a tricky illusion you’ve got up there! But I figured it out. I could tell something funny was going on with that rock wall,” she says, shaking a finger at her before crossing her arms, chest puffed up. The figure is blurred as her sleeping form slowly regains consciousness. “Anyway, I’m Delthea. Who are you?”

There is an extended silence as she takes in the rapid fire introduction, processing the words out of order. The surprise guest is a child dressed in mage robes with the draping fabric tied in hasty knots so they don’t fall below her knees or over her soaked boots. She must have waded through a swampy forest floor to arrive at the mountain, following leylines few would know to look for let alone be able to read. Yellow bows pull back unruly chestnut locks, a playful contrast to the solemn regalia. 

“Delthea. A mage,” she murmurs and she can see a shiver of excitement—or is it fear?— travel up the girl’s arms.

“I _thought_ you could talk. My brother said dragons can’t talk and he’s so very wrong.”

The chipper tone and informal stance is jarring when she is accustomed to displays of devotion from strangers. Before the conversation can continue, a yawn overtakes her. The diminutive spell caster gasps and her eyes grow wide. Celica hides her fangs away and attempts a less imposing posture, head lowered to the ground.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Delthea asks, neck craning as she evaluates the cavern. She is accompanied by her own source of light in the form of a fire spell that brazenly licks her at fingers, but never quite makes contact. 

“The same could be said for you,” she rumbles, clawed forearms overlapping as she adjusts. The girl watches every movement with all the focus of a hound on the hunt. Celica senses no danger.

“I was just curious. You’ve got some big magic brewing down here! Goes right down into the ground like tree roots. I can feel it where I step,” she says hopping from one foot to the other. 

“I’m merely a steward,” she says, closing her eyes, heart beating in time with the thrum of the surrounding earth. 

“You could do just about anything with that much mana! Like anything, anything.”

“It has great potential. This is true,” she says, tone even as she begins to catalog this bizarre encounter for later retrieval.

“I have some suggestions.”

Her eyes snap open at the comment and she watches the grin spread across Delthea’s face. Celica chuckles despite herself, but contains it as the sprightly figure hops back in surprise at the low sounds traveling throughout the cavern. Once composed, she dignifies the claim with a serious response.

“What would you do with such magic, Mage Delthea?”

She straightens when Celica addresses her as such, moving a hand to prop it on her hip, the other still curled around the flame. A part of Celica is genuinely curious. This girl with her casual confidence reminds her of another mage and she is drawn to the bittersweet ache. 

“Oh,” she says after a moment of preening, blinking as if she hadn’t anticipated the question. Her recovery is quick as she smiles. “Maybe try to live forever,” she says, idly playing with the small flame, its colors shifting from red orange to yellow. “I guess I’d learn all the secrets of the world! I’m already a top notch mage. You might say I’m a natural! There would be no limits to what I could understand if I had forever.” 

“Wouldn’t you be sad to outlive everyone you know?” she says in response, her voice a whisper yet it carries over the quiet crackling of the tongue of flame, still hungrily lapping at a palm.

The girl’s nose wrinkles at the question.

“It’s going to happen anyway, right? Like even if I go first, everyone dies eventually. I don’t mean that I wouldn’t _care_ , ok? I would! But it could take lifetimes to visit all the places on the map or learn a bunch of languages or read every tome I’d ever want to read. So, what’s the catch?”

“The ‘catch’ is that you cannot do whatever you wish and that power isn’t yours to use as you please. If others find you, they will attempt to use you for their own gain or take from you what you have,” she explains, attempting to speak plainly. No need to further complicate the matter with gods and fate.

“Well, then I’d give it all up!” she says without hesitation. “Even if I could help people, I’d be just… just a tool then! Like a tome. What’s the point? Sounds like a hassle.”

She isn’t expecting it, the self-assured tone and toothy grin from someone so small combined with the willingness to trade abilities for freedom. Celica is accustomed to the reverse. She has lived it herself though her motivation has never been a lust for power. 

“Mage Delthea, I sense greatness in you, with or without your magic. You are welcome to wait out the rains here.”

They talk for an afternoon in the warmth of the cave. Delthea jumps topics with little prompting. Her interests range from the philosophical to the mundane. As she walks out into the sun, trees still shedding droplets from their leaves, she shouts a vow to return again. It’s a risk and she considers changing her location and more thoroughly covering her tracks, but she finds she does hope to see her again despite her warnings over those drawn to power.

Delthea stays true to her word and reappears several years later with another young woman on the back of a pegasus. Her skin is scarred from war and she asks Celica to seal all her lightning and fire away in the earth. 

Her parting words provoke a series of questions over many nights, the answers to which are out of Celica’s grasp.

“You know, over the ocean there are dragons like you. Dragons who can talk.” Delthea pauses and smiles affectionately as she pats her snout. Celica doesn’t know whether to be charmed or offended. “They sleep a lot, too!” 

There’s a strangled sound from the woman behind her. Her grip tightens on her lance as she leans into it with a slight wobble.

“Thank you for helping her, Divine Dragon,” the Knight nearly yelps with a low bow. 

Delthea‘s laughter fills the cavern and the Knight glances nervously between the two. The former mage is unaffected by any concerns over irreverence and takes her hand, tugging her along towards the exit.

“Let’s go, Est.” 

Celica listens as they fly off, nervous giggles sliding into genuine glee as they bubble from the Knight’s lips. She pesters her companion over her disregard for the respect due to a dragon of her stature.

They never see the other again, but the memories stay with her and remind her that the choice can be hers. It need not always be such a solemn one, but levity is not in her nature.

Delthea’s boldness has since been superseded by this new lost girl: Faye of Ram Village who laid down the dragon slayer blade and sleeps next to her former foe. Celica understands self-sacrifice intimately, but their earlier interactions tasted more like resignation. She curves her neck to scratch at her face where a hand recently stroked.

A touch is a simple thing, but she shivers and her head fills with thunder and ringing from the novelty of it. What is forgotten returns in fits and starts in the dark. Perhaps the mold isn’t broken and it’s possible to be remade instead of shattered. Her other selves are distant in her waking hours, but there is a sensation that feels like agreement. 

She takes shape anew, scaled skin a kiln to transform. It isn’t perfect; she can tell even before the changes are complete, but as she looks at pale hands with short fingers good for grasping, not for fighting or clawing or digging, it feels right. 

There is no lament from the earth or oceans at the shift, but the beating pulse of the land is further away than it has ever been in her memory. 

Her clothes are there as well and she twists a bit before adjusting how they sit on her frame. The crest on the fixture clipping her cape in place is a relic of a bygone era. Zofia is no more, having been absorbed into Rigel generations ago. She unlatches it and runs a thumb over the uneven surface before pocketing it. 

Her guest is slowly falling over where she sits and despite herself, she smiles at the drooping form before rolling up the cape just in time to cushion her descent. 

In the dim light of the cavern she sits and waits, listening for the sounds of the village at the base of the mountain. There is still time.

~*~

It takes Faye a moment to realize she isn’t home with the windows shuttered when her eyes crack open and peer into the dark. She had curled up on the ground at some point, her head propped up on a pillow of rolled fabric she doesn’t recognize and her brown cloak still wrapped around her shoulders.

The space has grown colder and there is only a single flame for illumination. Another fizzles into being at her side and she notices all at once that the dragon has disappeared and left a stranger in her place.

She nearly shouts her surprise, sleep falling away with a sharp jolt. The presence has returned, however, and the warmth is like sitting by a hearth.

“Who are you?” she asks, words tentative in the dark. Only after she speaks does she see scaled arms and a horn protruding from a pale forehead.

The stranger’s eyebrows raise the slightest bit at the question, as if Faye should know the answer.

“Oh,” Faye says, suddenly uncomfortable with her in a way that was different than the pity she felt for the dragon. Maybe it’s her expression, her smile only an impression of one. She wears a white dress with details in gold and red. Faye pulls up her makeshift pillow made from the same rich fabrics. It’s wrinkled now and guilt draws her gaze to the floor as she hands it back. The first question answered, she settles on the next best thing. “Well, do you have a name or…”

There’s a brief pause as the woman mulls over the request. 

“Celica and before that Anthiese,” she says and her voice is smooth like water-softened stone, the imperfections of the more gravely dragon’s voice worn away with the transformation. “Before that… well, it’s difficult to remember when I’m like this.”

Faye isn’t sure what most of that means. She might as well be speaking in riddles.

“Celica,” she tests the name, the syllables foreign yet pleasant. It’s much better than ‘you’ or ‘dragon’, at least.

“But _who_ are... or were you?” she asks, still trying to wrap her head around the encounter “Are you… going to change back?”

“I don’t believe so. Not yet anyway.”

Faye can’t get a read on her and it’s not just because of the dim light. An ear twitches and her attention is drawn elsewhere. 

“Your friends…” she says, her lips pursing. “They’re close. I didn’t… couldn’t sense them. It’s strange.” 

She doesn’t ask Celica who she means by friends or how she knows to identify anyone that way. If people are coming up from the village, some precautions should be taken. 

Her brows knit as she examines Celica who still appears to be listening to activity only she can recognize, a long ear trembling in time with some unseen rhythm. There is still a tail that trails behind her made of the colors of a setting sun. Her hair sweeps down and out like wings, a warmer shade than the oranges in the trees scattered throughout Valentia. 

“Can you um… hide those?” Faye asks and points at the tail and then her ears.

Celica’s eyes widen at the request and she glances between them. 

“You are right,” she concedes and though Faye looks away, she can hear the hum of magic. “We should go.”

She’s fully human now. Or looks it, at least. That intense sadness is gone as well, Faye belatedly realizes, disappeared with the dragon. Or maybe they’re both just hidden away. Nodding, she stands and stretches before scooping up the weapon, her arms protesting the weight. Celica lightly touches a shoulder and the strain melts away.

“I’m a healer as well,” she says by way of explanation. 

Dragon, healer, mage, royal… the circlet resting upon her head has not evaded notice. Faye’s shoulders twitch, but she stands tall.

“Lead the way, I guess.”

Celica motions her to wait before she walks away, boots clacking on the cave floor. The chiming sounds of coin against coin can be heard. 

“For your troubles,” she says when she returns, handing her a purse of gold and a small golden dagger. The circlet is gone as well. 

It’s more money than Faye has handled in her life, not that she’s ever had great need of it. The land and the village provide the necessities, but she affixes the items to her belt and covers them with her cloak.

The return journey back up to the entrance moves so much more swiftly than the way down though Faye thinks her sense of time has been lost as soon as she could no longer see sun or moon. The flames wink out of existence as they approach the light. The damp in the air is accompanied by vibrant morning sun. Her eyes take a moment to adjust, Celica waiting patiently as she slows her pace. The sword in Faye’s hands is a reminder of their truce and she grows uneasy with the weight. Before she can dwell on those thoughts there is a startled shout from outside the cave. She can only see hazy outlines, but the voices are familiar.

“Faye!” a voice calls in a timbre somewhere between heated and joyful.

_Gray._

“Watch out.”

_Tobin._

All three are black dots that come into focus, weapons raised as they glance, dumbfounded, between the two of them.

“I’m ok,” she says in words that sound more annoyed than relieved. 

“Who’s—“ Gray begins, a thumb pointing at Celica. 

“She’s…” she interrupts, but words fail her. Celica is quick to pick things up where Faye falters.

“A mage. I saw the smoke and flames from afar and they led me here.”

It’s an easy lie and serves to placate them. The tension deflates and there’s an awkward pause before Tobin shouts and points to the sword in her hands. She’s all too happy to hand it over to Kliff who has been silently observing. Gray in turn snatches it with muttered epithets. It’s no longer her responsibility. 

“But the dragon,” Tobin says, now in a whisper. 

“Gone,” Celica says, resolute as they all turn to her. “There is no threat to the village.”

Kliff watches her with a catlike wariness.

“She’s right,” he says, “The presence is missing, at least.”

Tobin and Gray both relax at the news. It’s Faye’s turn to shout when Tobin yanks her into an embrace and Gray claps her on her back.

“Maybe Faye chased the beast away with the sword,” Gray says with a laugh. 

His tone is jovial, but her face heats at his joking speculation’s proximity to the truth. No one takes notice in the dark. 

No one asks her what she was doing or why. They all know, but the unease fills an awkward silence. 

“Well, let’s get back down to the village before her Ladyship Mathilda finds out the Falchion walked away in the night,” Gray says with a laugh that is more nervous than he probably means it to sound. “Are you coming, mage?”

His grin is overly familiar as he extends a hand, Celica not taking him up on the offer.

“Of course. Any you may call me Celica. I’m told you might be in need of a healer and I have some skill there.”

Faye hasn’t considered this. She ignores the part of her concerned with manners that suggests she should have introduced Celica herself as her breathing grows shallow. It’s one thing to be sympathetic, but another to lead the dragon from its den. 

_Our quarrel is over for now, Faye. It was truly never ours to begin with. I wish to make amends._

Her thoughts swim. She can’t trust even if she wants to. 

_I’m weaker in this form. The dagger is yours should you need it._

The implication is clear and she shivers. Perhaps her responsibility did not get passed on with the sword.

Their silent exchange is broken by Gray who walks towards the entrance.

“Let’s get out of here then. I’m starving!” 

Their time talking has been enough for her eyes to partially adjust to the morning sun. They water slightly as they step out of the cave and make the return journey back to Ram, the gold and the dagger a new weight at her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I wasn't sure where to break this chapter and I've had some schedule changes over the past month that took some getting used to, so y'know... behind on everything!


End file.
